For various reasons such as schedule changes and the Columbus Day parade, I decided not to go to Manhattan during the day and walked to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden instead. It's a rather long, mostly uphill walk through Park Slope and then all the way across Prospect Park to Flatbush Avenue. Seeing as it was a school holiday, the park was full of parents busily trying to have a great time with their kids. I believe that I was the only non-jogging single woman in sight. 

When I arrived at the botanic garden, the ticket taker laughed incredulously and said, "You want to buy a ticket?" I said yes, and she relented and sold me one.

As in the park, most of the people at the garden were organized into pairs or groups. For a while I thought I saw a young woman with a crutch walking around by herself, but it turns out that she was just avoiding her parents. Visitors tended to be over 60 and enthusiastic. They wore polar fleece and carried cameras with large lenses, which I thought might be impractical for flowers.

You may find it strange that a person from the country enjoys visiting city gardens, but in fact botanic gardens are nothing at all like the country. Everything is so tidy and well shaped, although autumn can become too much even for fancy gardeners. Acorns do litter the ground, and giant greedy squirrels do dig holes in the turf. Leaves turn brown and spotty. The scenic ponds become murky, and the oversized goldfish look put-upon as they heave up from the depths. There were, however, some fabulous fall berries. My favorite was the beautyberry bush, which had glowing violet-colored clusters rather similar to the shade of purple you might see on a Jimi Hendrix album cover.

I put some acorns in my pocket, and I would have like to steal a bright-pink, good-smelling rose also, but I refrained. I don't intend to plant the acorns because I already have too many trees. I do like to find them in my pockets, however.

After a while I got tired of walking and went to the cafe and bought a cup of coffee. As I sat down at a table next to two women, one of the woman was saying, ". . . is what Brooke Astor told me, and when I saw her daughter-in-law's picture in the paper, I thought Brooke was absolutely right, her head is shaped like that." I couldn't believe I'd sat down at such an inopportune moment. A few seconds earlier, and I would have learned exactly what Brooke Astor thought her daughter-in-law's head looked like, but now I'll never know.